How to Train Your Channeler

[Oriena]

She watched him, eyes never leaving his face now. There was no softness in her expression, but there was interest – the kind that sharpened instead of soothed. She wasn't built for reassurance, and his worries were better spent elsewhere.

“Oh, he’ll help,” she said immediately, without hesitation. “He doesn’t know how not to.” There was something almost fond in the way she said it – buried deep, but there, even as she rolled her eyes at the thought. Even without the power himself she didn’t doubt he’d fathom a way. “But he’ll only teach you what you’re willing to learn. You could do worse than give his ineptitude a chance, though.” Her words were dry on the word Sasha had chosen, a brow drawn up in challenge, but the smirk remained even if it had taken on a more dangerous cast. As far as safety was concerned, it really was as simple as that: all Sasha had to do was learn enough control to stop dropping the fucking bodies, and then he could disappear. Which was fine, if that's what he wanted. His torrent of questions suggested it was what he wanted. To stay small. To remain content with that tiny flame in his palm. To be left alone.
 
She leaned to take hold of his chin, force his gaze, though she hardly needed to. The flame had winked out, though, and she knew it’d drain that sense of invincibility and power. Even the vodka wasn’t a match for that. “Stop thinking like prey. Take what’s on offer, or don’t, but Sasha: what do you actually want? Quiet life? To just carry on peddling Ezekiel’s wares in the shadows? Or to take back some control for every shitty hand life's dealt you and live on your own fucking terms?”